


I Want to Ruin

by mbeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Caring, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship/Love, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing in the Rain, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, Masturbation in Shower, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, On the Run, Oral Sex, Road Trips, Sexual Inexperience, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbeth/pseuds/mbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1950's AU that will get naughtier, I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Want to Ruin Your Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> I've always promised myself I would never write an AU... well darn. I wrote one. I was really into the 1950-1960s setting of Lolita and here it is. Have fun! It will get naughtier, I swear, but this is just the set up.

Sometimes fearlessness is only the realization that nothing more could happen to you. At this point, Sansa had this numb brand of bravery. She watched her wilting reflection in the fogged up mirror as the sound of a hotel shower rushed behind her. Then she looked at the bottles of hair dye in her hands; muted and dull. Today the color fit.

Sansa had never noticed the price of at-home hair dye, but this one looked particularly expensive. Maybe it was from a salon. Maybe not. She hadn't purchased it; it was waiting for her on the counter and Petyr put it there. She mused in the back of her head that it must have been a bit painful for him to do this, after all, he did love her hair so much. Maybe dyeing my hair will hurt him as much as all this will hurt me, she thought. But she knew it wouldn’t.

After disrobing, Sansa wrapped a towel around her. She was so petit that it almost wrapped around twice. While Sansa had been in San Francisco, she had been shedding weight. Apparently tears do wonders for the waistline.

As Sansa worked the muddy gel into her auburn hair, she thought how strange it felt to be somewhere else. She had lived in San Francisco for years now. Somewhere between her life being exactly as she dreamed and now, things went horribly wrong.

Dropping the towel to pool around her feet, Sansa stared long and arduously at her reflection. The girl who starred back was scrawny, grey-eyed, and worst of all - a brunette. Her hair was slathered with dirt colored gel and stacked atop her head like the fashionable beehives that Sansa would never wear. Her eyes were once a sky blue, but now - perhaps it's because her hair was different - they look hollow and vast and like storm clouds at sea. Sansa sucked in her stomach and held her breath; her rips couldn't become anymore visible than they already were.

Everything had gone so wrong and she had one friend in the world who had always been little more than a stranger. Sansa's eyes became reflective pools as they welled up. The girl in the mirror, whose name she supposed to be Alayne, blurred and she thought to herself how lucky she was that Petyr had been there when he was. How unlucky she was about everything else.

Petyr was in the adjacent bedroom, observing the two twin beds covered in floral duvets. Removing his blazer, he kneed the bed closest to the door: it would do. The closet door was a mirror that had been warped over time and Petyr caught a glimpse of himself while hanging his jacket carefully; he looked tired but apart from that unfazed.

However from inside the closet every sound from Sansa carried. Petyr's face struck a more somber pose when he heard her sobbing. Then the shower's pipes kicked on. She must have changed the water temperature.

If he were a smart man, or maybe just a caring man (because he was a smart man), he would have cradled her. He would have stepped into the steam fog of the shower and held her as she sobbed. He would have spoiled his perfectly pressed three piece suit to wipe the tears off her face.

She slid to the floor of the shower and held herself. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to hate him for bringing her out of her life, for not petting her hair right now, for being him, but he was the only friend she had left.

She thought for a moment that she wouldn't leave the shower floor, huddled beside the drain, until chestnut mascara and chestnut hair dye stained the chest of his mandarin collared shirt. Then she realized it was a silly thought and it would be a shame to ruin such a nice shirt.

The brown rinsing down the drain felt less like washing her hair and more as if all that was Sansa was being eradicated and she could watch it stream by stream washing away. Once the water began running clear, Sansa stood and shut the water off. When she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in the off-white towel, she saw that the door to the bathroom was latching and there was a hand print in the steam on the shower handle.

How long had his hand been on the door? How long had watched her cry?


	2. I Want to Ruin Your Bed

The bathroom was still dewy as Sansa was getting dressed. Her jeans were difficult to pull over her flushed skin and for a moment she thought she would just forget the trousers and wear her shirt, but she had company.

She walked into the bedroom drying her new hair with the towel, almost as if she were trying to scrub the brown out, when Petyr walked back into the room from outside holding a brown paper bag.

"I didn't know what you liked so," his mannerisms were so different behind closed doors. He seemed unsure and a bit awkward when he was also so poised with others.

"So," Sansa waited, half smiling.

Petyr placed the large bag on the bed and began unpacking it. There were two bottles of wine: red and white and some cans of beer. One of the cans caught one of the buttons of his vest as he pulled it from the bag; he almost didn't notice.

Sansa stopped him, grabbing that same can out of his hand as it was still firmly pressed against his chest, "That's fine, I'll take a Bud." She smiled when she caught his eyes, sternly searching for approval.

Petyr opened the bottle of white wine for himself and smirked with a small exhale that may have been a laugh but may have been a scoff, "I forgot glasses."

"Drink from the bottle. I don't mind, I'm going to drink from the can." Sansa never imagined this immaculately dressed business man swigging back wine like it was holy water straight from the bottle. There was a moment of joy in it. The juxtaposition of this entire situation made her laugh.

Petyr liked seeing her laugh. Even though her hair was still wet and sticking to her skin, even though her eyes were still a bit swollen and red, even though she still sniffled a bit when she spoke, she was absolutely breath-taking when she laughed.

Still with a smile on his lips, "I never took you for a beer drinker."

Sansa took a drink of the amber liquid and closed her eyes. "For future reference, I love lemon shandies."

"I'll remember that for when it's summer again." He licked at some stray droplets on his lips. He had thin lips and a handsome mouth.

A sarcastic and incredulous look crossed Sansa's face. "Excuse me, it's always the time of year for lemon shandies."

Petyr bowed out of this argument, smiling and tossing his hands slightly in the air; it was clear he wouldn't win against her love of lemon shandies. They talked for what felt like all night about nothing in particular. They spoke about happy things, like pets, and favorite colors, and sports they were good at as children. They discovered facts about one another, but weren't getting to know each other at all. It felt better that way on this night.

As the night wore on and the collection of empty containers grew, Sansa's eyelids grew heavy. She and Petyr were sitting on his bed, facing one another and she seemed to fall asleep sitting up. Her body fell into his chest and her eyes were flickering closed.

She was so beautiful. So tragically beautiful.

Her breath poured over her slightly parted lips like fog as he held her. Her eyelashes had once looked full and dark, but now looked so delicate in comparison to her dark hair. Petyr stroked her hair for a bit and whispered, "I am so sorry for everything." He rested her head on his pillow and covered her with the blanket before taking the opposite bed for himself.


	3. I Want to Ruin Your Walls (Bang Bang)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of some flashback mixed in with some weird stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a bit of a rape (flashback) sequence. So, just be warned if you're super disturbed by that. If you don't read the italicized part, you can totally skip it.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Petyr awoke just before dawn crept through the musty, parted curtains and looked to Sansa. She had curled herself into a ball facing him like a pup, eyes still gingerly sealed, lips pouting slightly. Her hair looked much better now that it had dried to a muted and dustier brown, although nothing would suit her quite like the red.

For a moment, before he quickly stole into the shower, Sansa looked like her mother with the way that her brow furrowed slightly when she slept. He didn't wake her.

Petyr stood facing the shower as bullets of water ran down his chest. He was slender and almost muscular for an older man - at least his shoulders looked strong. He braced himself against the tile wall and let the rivets cascade through his hair and onto his face. Holding his breath shortly, Petyr made a game (or rather a distraction) of keeping the water unperturbed as it ran down the length of his very straight nose and over his sternly shut lips.

Petyr rubbed soap into the graying at his temples and down his neck to lightly massage his nape. Streams carrying white bubbles meandered down the map of his body. They curved around his nipples, wiggled through the light dusting of curled hair, and wandered adjacent to the strikingly long scar that followed his torso to his groin.

His hands, sore from white-knuckle driving for twenty hours, drifted from their placement to the soap on his body. Sliding his palms down the slippery canvas of his chest, his thin waist, jumping over the scarring, and down to the patch of black hair just below his navel, he sighed quite audibly and rolled his head from one sloping shoulder to the other.

Without hardly realizing it, he took his cock in his hand and began rubbing its length. This was Petyr's first moment alone since it happened.

_He could hear someone screaming or crying. Petyr barely knew the difference between the sounds - each sounded terrible to someone who only ever had to witness their own stoic emotions. But there were only three cars in the lot that night. And it was night._

He thought about how he found her, dress pushed up, shoes half on, makeup smeared. He stroked in a harder rhythm and clutched tighter as he moved over the end.

_Pulling the pistol from the desk in the end office (that wasn't his), Petyr crept back down the hall to the sound of heavy breathing and ragged, sobbing breaths._

_The door was open and the window was wide, letting yellow streetlamp light in and illuminating everything in a strange blue. He could see the back of a young man and hear a young woman strangling to say "no"._

_"Shhh," the man hushed, hand over her mouth, "we're done when I say we're done."_

_The mumbles sounded more like squeaks as Petyr slinked closer. He supposed it was the Doppler Effect of abuse: the closer he got, the higher pitched it sounded._

_"I won't tell anyone." She choked. Hearing Sansa like this hit the pit of Petyr's stomach. "Get off me," the tears in Sansa's (normally melodic) voice stuttered and cut every syllable short. "Stop!" She was finally able to shout._

_A hand gripped around her pretty throat, trapping some of her red hair to her quickening pulse. Her eyes, bluer than the eerie light silhouetting everything, peered at Petyr from behind the young man. They widened as she stared at him, pleading._

Petyr braced himself against the shower wall again, shoulders shivering.

_He cocked the gun and the young man turned around with just enough time to see the bullet fire. His body slumped to the floor, atop Sansa. The exit wound gaped open against the wall and onto her startled face. Bits of skull, more like dust now, splashed into her red hair and blood dropped onto her lips, seeping in the ghastly expression._

Shaking, Petyr finished into his hand and breathed harshly through the water.

_Sansa, still scared and plagued with paroxysms, kicked the young man's body off of her own and scurried to the corner of the room. She feared the practically headless body and not the gun still pointed in her direction._

_"Oops," Petyr half smiled, extending a hand to her. "We had better go and we had better go now."_

Sansa was awake in her bed as he walked out of the bathroom, half dressing. She caught a glimpse of his scar at his collarbone.

"Good," still out of breath and tightening his tie, "you're awake. Let's hit the road, Cat." And with that, he grabbed his vest and jacket and walked out towards the car.


	4. I Want to Ruin Her Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sex is about to start - I swear!

Sansa tossed the floral blanket from her legs, threw her burgundy circle skirt over the trousers Petyr loaned her, and straightened the skirt as she stood. She had nothing to grab but her shoes, which had been carefully placed by the door earlier this morning, because she hadn't taken anything with her.

Running to the car, Sansa wiggled her delicate heels into the shoes. She touched her painted fingernails to the green handle, opened the door, and swung into the plush leather seat next to Petyr.

"Cat." She simply stared at him. Not accusingly, not questioningly, not curiously; just correcting.

"Cat." Petyr almost hissed the mimicked syllable with some irritation (possibly impatience) in his voice. "What do you mean?"

Sansa's face grew concern, almost wondering if she had made up the entire thing. "You called me Cat a moment ago." She paused in a clear and dreadful moment. "I'm not even going to ask how you know her or why you're so familiar with that name that you would venture to call me that. But please do not say her name again to me. Everyone else does and it has exhausted me. Sympathy only runs so deep."

Petyr tongued the back of his eyetooth in hesitation, grey eyes unwavering from the windshield. "Fair enough, but you certainly can't be Sansa. Not anymore."

He looked to her, her eyes wild and once again sapphire blue. Were they welling up? Petyr turned the key in the ignition and took his hand to her jawline, speaking softly, "You need new clothes. I believe there's plenty of lovely shops in St. Louis."

Sansa's smile melting into his fingers and turned to a sheepish smirk. "Only if you pay."

It was the afternoon when they stopped near St. Louis. They stayed away from the city center but the surrounding suburbs offered plenty.

Petyr stepped out of the car and walked around to Sansa's side, handing her a wad of cash from his brown leather wallet. "I'll go get groceries, you go get dressed."

Sansa nodded, her new brown hair bouncing, and they parted. After approximately an hour, Sansa returned and waited leaning against the car with three large bags and a clean set of clothes.

Petyr arrived later with a handful of apples and a brown paper bag. It didn't take him that long to find apples; and while Sansa was clever enough to know this, she was also clever enough to keep her mouth shut.

In the afternoon sun, the eyes that scanned her body head to toe looked a vibrant green (matching the apples) and their smile created little lines around their perimeter. "You look good, Ms. Stone." He struggled through his enunciation of Stone. The lie was too thick on his lips. "Black is very becoming."

The black trousers were tight across her slender thighs and stopped at her shin. She wore a black sweater that could have been painted across her chest. Her makeup was also much darker. Her brows now matched her hair and her lips were almost a brown.

"I have something for you too," she smiled a wicked smile with dark lips and pulled a beautifully folded linen shirt from one of the bags. She handed it to him along with an amount from the stack of money he handed her earlier.

"How did you pay for this then?" Their fingers brushed against each other with electricity as Sansa let go of the gift.

"I stole it."

 

The sheets of rain grew treacherously thick and Sansa grew restless four hours into the second act of their drive today. Sansa had been holding the remnants of a granny smith apple since the storm began following them.

"We should stop soon. These damn winter storms in Chicago." Petyr thumbed his temple and ran his hand through his chestnut hair.

"I wish we had my car. It was perfect in this weather."

Then Sansa remembered watching her car sinking to the bottom of the bay, disappearing one glistening beige inch at a time. She loved that car.

"Hey," she added optimistically, "if you can't drive in this weather, then neither can they. Let's just find a hotel."

Petyr nodded and turned into the first rat-trap they saw. As they rushed into the lobby, Petyr tried to shield Sansa from the torrents. Pieces of her hair remained dry but for the most part both of them were soaked as they approached the thin man behind the desk.

"A room for my daughter and I." Once Petyr's lips sealed behind the word 'daughter', Sansa stilled in silence. She had never noticed that this handsome coworker, this savior, this untrusting and untrustworthy man was old enough to be her father. "Two beds," he added.

The gentleman behind the desk looked at them shrewdly and handed Petyr a key. 

Once Sansa closed the door behind her she leaned against it with an incredulous expression held in Petyr's direction. "I'm not calling you dad."

"Father it is, then." He placed his jacket on the bed closest to the door and began unbuttoning his vest.

Sansa took yesterday's clothes from her bag and walked to the small patio. She dropped her shoulder and looked back at Petyr, "have anything filthy?"

When he finished fingering the buttons of his vest, he looked up to see Sansa hanging her clothes in the rain. The sweater he thought couldn't cling to her any closer hung wet from her nipples as she smiled back at him.

"Just give me your shirt. You've had it on for three days. It's disgusting." Her smile was caring and her voice was innocent but her body was all woman.

Petyr walked onto the patio, grabbed her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply. Sansa's fingers wove down the front of his shirt as she began unbuttoning the beautiful mandarin collar.


	5. I Want to Ruin Your Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the sex. It happens.

"I have wanted to fuck you since I first laid eyes on you, Sansa Stark," Petyr spoke between breaths, between his tongue dancing across her plump lips.

Sansa grinned against his face, nipping a bit at the skin on his thin jawline, and sighed a relieving sound. She didn't have to say anything for Petyr to read that as 'I know.'

Her tapering fingers still worked diligently at the buttons over his scar until she was able to throw the shirt off his round shoulders, sleeves still around his wrists. She grabbed hold of his arms tightly and pulled herself flush against his body. Her breasts looked round and high as they pressed upwards against his chest.

Sliding her hands down the length of his arms, she stopped at his arousal and looked up at him with blue eyes round like saucers and smiling softly. She breathed across his lips as her hand crept into his trousers. "I want to ruin you," she whispered as his tongue searched for hers and she denied him, "I will , you poor man, and you can't even be mad because I'm warning you now." Sansa hungrily tasted his wanting mouth; he tasted like mojitos.

His shirt grew heavier as it hung soaked from his forearms behind him. It made a wet peeling sound as he shook it from his body and let it hit the floor with a splat. His hands quickly traveled to Sansa's breasts. He molded their shape to his palm and held so tightly that droplets of rain were squeezed from her sweater.

Wrapping her fingers around his cock, Sansa's steadied a rhythm of long strokes. Her hand was soft against him at first with pressure growing as he kissed her deeper.

His hands wandered from her chest, one to tangle in her hair that still smelled of new chemicals and conditioner, the other to undo the two buttons of his dress pants. Petyr pressed into her grip, gyrating slowly and unnoticed. Stopping, Sansa gave a coquettish smile and Petyr pinned her against the wall, locking her shoulder blades to the hard brick, but bracing her skull with his hand. 

"I said," Petyr's voice was stern and low, "I wanted to fuck you. So take off your clothes." He breathed against her mouth, one determined word at a time. She relaxed against his touch, arching her back and leaning into him with her chest.

"They're new," she smiled. "I don't want them ruin--." Her voice cut out to a high moan as he pressed his lips to her ear and suckled around the pearl earring she was wearing. Petyr pulled away and grabbed at the bottom hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head. She obliged, raising her arms and as the cloth moved over her skin, her breasts bounded and her nipples puckered from the cold rain.

Petyr threw the sweater through the still-opened door to the gritty floor inside the hotel and pushed her into the room. He laid her on her back on the carpet, just barely out of the rain, and he kneeled beside her. The strings of brown hair formed a halo around her face as it splayed out on the floor. Petyr thought how if her hair were still red, it would have looked like blood.

Sansa shimmied out of her pants and tossed them aside as she bit her lip, pinching the fullness of them. Her eyes shifted as Petyr studied her. She was wearing black lace panties that hit just below her perfectly round belly button. There was a bow on the front. Petyr found it amusing that she must have thought that's what women dressed like. She must have thought this was sexy. She didn't know anything.

Petyr began to slide the lace down her thighs when she startled and craned her neck to look at him. "Should I be doing something?" Her voice was shaking a bit, very much like her hands.

"Just lie still," Petyr laughed. Her thighs were milky white and the hair at the apex of her legs was still very auburn.

Once he freed her ankles of her panties, he pushed one of her knees to crook to one side and held the other leg still under his hand. Petyr bent down to her, his face almost grazing her mound, when he noticed the quickness of her breath by the quivering of her belly. He turned his now emerald eyes to hers.

"Has no one done this before?" he asked, his hot breath caressing her folds.

Sansa shook her head. "I'm not a virgin or anything," she paused, "but no."

"You'll tell me if you like it then." It wasn't a question so much as a request. Sansa's pride didn't like to think he was trying to teach or enlighten her about anything, but he buried his face from her view and her breath hitched.

Petyr lowered his tongue to the nub tucked away in her skin and it felt intensely different from what she was accustom to. It felt stronger and more precise and somehow softer. Sansa's moans grew louder and lower in pitch than the sighs she had given him before. Her hands ventured to his hair and she pulled at him, wrapping her fingers in what length she could. She pushed his hair back as she ran her fingers from his hairline to the backs of his shoulders, leaving hand marks and little red streaks from fingernails.

He moved lower and pressed his mouth to her opening. His lips and tongue moved against her as she bucked her hips. His hands gripped her hipbones firmly as he gave one last lick along the length of her sex and flicked her nub with his tongue, drawing back.

"I am going to fuck you now, Sansa," he breathed between syllables, his thumb wiping the juices from his lips, "and you're going to like it."

Lowering himself over her body, Petyr held firmly to his cock, pressing it against her entrance. Sansa was slick with desire and saliva and with a slow thrust into her she grabbed onto his shoulders and gasped.

His movements were more confident than Sansa's experience. Confident and pleasurable. Petyr rocked his hips in an almost circular way as he entered her. He seemed to care if she was enjoying it, basing his rhythm on the pace of her moving to meet his pelvis.

She whimpered as he kissed down her neck and along her jawline. His body was on fire and felt delicious against her. Sansa rubbed her hands down the sides of him, feeling his musculature and goose bumps rise near his shoulder blades. Petyr quickened against her for a few beats. Sansa pushed up to meet him, cooing softly in his ear. His brow furrowed and he spilled into her with an exasperated sound.

He looked down at her, her face red with passion and the makeup around her lips wiped completely away, and kissed her on the nose. Sansa blinked up at him, sapphire orbs disappearing briefly under her lids.

As Petyr pulled out from her, Sansa shrugged away slightly. Petyr stood and shut the door to the patio; the rain had lightened, but it had started to rain at an angle.

Sitting up on the floor, Sansa looked at the two beds and then back to Petyr. "I'd really like to sleep with someone tonight." He could hear in her voice that she was ashamed of her words. "I'm not afraid of the dark but I have really bad dreams."

He knelt down to her, faces parallel. "So do I," his hand pet her hair, "when I do dream."


	6. I Want to Ruin Your Hope

Petyr awoke later today than he had yesterday although it always appeared to everyone else that, just like a monster, he never slept. He opened his dull ocean grey eyes to a ceiling just as dull in color. His jawline had grown scruffy as more grey pricked through the skin around his goatee. Petyr languidly turned his face to Sansa, lying next to him. He blinked forcefully, assuring himself she was not some half-memory from half a lifetime ago.

As he stared at her lying on her back from the other side of the bed, Sansa flinched. Her head jerked quickly towards him and a whimper was drawn from her lips. She curled against him suddenly and wrapped her small fists into the light dusting of hair on his chest.

"Shhh," he whispered to her face and took her hand in his. She stilled as he stroked her lip with his thumb. "You're just dreaming. You're just dreaming and you're fine."

Sansa's eyes slowly open to his face. "Sorry," she mumbled as she released him.

"There's nothing to apologize for."

"No," Sansa leaned up on her elbow and almost whispered, "I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry you," her lips could only think the words killed for me, but her tongue twisted into "feel like I'm your responsibility."

"It's nothing, really. I'm not in any way new to this." Petyr's eyes smiled as he answered her thought rather than her words.

"But why?" Her lips curled around her question with slight confusion. "What am I to you?"

Petyr stretched his arms above his head and hopped from the bed, collecting what little things he had around the room and on the patio. "Maybe I'll tell you later and maybe I won't. But for now, we still have places to go."

Sansa sat up and rested her back against the headboard, wrapping the sheets closer to her body, "Where exactly have we been going?"

Petyr looked at her and answered a succinct, "home".

Her heart fluttered inside her chest for a short homesick moment until she paused and turned questions to Petyr again. "Home is a very ambiguous and circumstantial place. Whose home?" Sansa let the sheets loosen a bit around her chest. "Your home? My home?"

It took three steps for Petyr to be at her side. "Mine," he kissed her tenderly in her hair. "Well one of them at least."


	7. I Want to Ruin Your Attempt

Petyr's gaze was steady on the road in front of them when Sansa looked over at him from her nap. The car had been rocking her to sleep for a few hours: a comfort she hadn't been afforded since she last saw her mother.

_"Mom. Seriously I'm too old for this." Sansa inched to the other side of the damask sofa. "Really, stop touching me." It was mostly in play but a small part of Sansa was being honest. She didn't like being touched._

_"You're always my baby." Cat smiled a sweet and gentle smile as she unwrapped her arms from Sansa and let her retreat to the corner of the sectional._

"Petyr," Sansa asked, staring at his backlit profile. He was very handsome. His features all were straight and sharp which were masculine and also pretty, but there was a fragile slenderness to him as well that appeared frightening. "What can I do to thank you?"

She lent towards him, his focus unwavering, and crept her hands to the fastenings of his trousers. Her touch was electric and excited Petyr's physical being but his gaze never changed. Her hands pressed into his hardening flesh as he grabbed her wrist.

"Not now." Even then, he never looked at her. His other hand appeared to be gripping the steering wheel  as tightly as her wrist, the pressure whitening his knuckles.

"You seem to be liking it." Sansa motioned to the swelling under his zipper with her sapphire eyes. Quickly she reached her other hand towards his crotch.

"Stop. Seriously." Petyr never raised his voice, but he finally stared at her, the car gaining speed. His eyes were a white grey and reckless.

Sansa brought the hand that was touching him back to herself and ripped away the hand that he held. She thought about all the times she had said stop. All the times he was down the hall and probably heard her shouting. A large part of Sansa wanted to keep going, keep touching him, keep harassing him, just because no one had listened to her saying no.

"I was just trying to thank you." She mumbled, hurt, and curled back towards the window.

A few moments passed as she watched her reflection and the terrain as it  became more urban. The telephone lines grew taller and the sky grew to a crimson as the sun set. More colors added to the ground and to the trees instead of only wheat.

"I appreciate it." Petyr's voice almost startled her. "I appreciate you trying to thank me, but right now we should just consider one thing. I'm trying to get us to safety as quickly as possible. You're just a distraction."

Petyr glanced over as Sansa's face dropped slightly. "You're very distracting is what I'm trying to say." He placed his fingers along her jawline and coaxed a smile from her lips. "Such a pretty girl when you smile."


	8. I Want to Ruin Your Trust

Sansa's eyes fluttered open again as the car turned slowly down a dark road. Petyr had driven all night again and the delicate, bluish skin beneath his eyes showed it. The sky looked familiar to Sansa; it was the crisp, star-lined firmament that had guarded her childhood. The same type of pines and oaks silhouetted by the streetlamps.

  _How strange it is to miss a type of tree_ , Sansa thought. _The figures and shapes are so soft looking. They're wispy, like they'll blow away. But every needle is precise, every tree is resilient and quickly growing. So soft, but so fierce._

 

 "We're almost there," Petyr cooed quietly, unsure if she was awake or just stirring.

 "Where are we?" Sansa's voice was hopeful in her sleepiness. She thought for a moment they could be in upstate New York. They could be driving past her home. "I don't even know where you live."

 "This house," he pointed through the woods, down the gravel road, to a large, white house, "is in Maine."

 Sansa calculated the route from Chicago, the time she had been sleeping, and her face grew outwardly worried.

 "Don't worry. We didn't drive past it. You didn't miss it." He watched as her concerned eyes didn't quite believe him. "I would have woken you up," Petyr slowed the car to a stop in front of the house and shifted towards her. "I promise."

 Sansa noted the look on his face when he promised her. His sharp chin pointed downward, his brow lifted, eyes widened. His promises sounded sincere, but they looked very different.

 Sansa's smile didn't reach her eyes, "I know. I wouldn't have wanted to see it the way it is now anyway."

 Though they didn't know each other well, as they walked into the house Sansa noticed a disconnect with Petyr's sense of style and this house. It didn't look like him. It didn't look like his. The only thing that secured in Sansa's mind that they weren't sneaking into an abandoned house was that there were letters addressed to Petyr waiting on a table near the door.

 He snatched them up as quickly as she had noticed them and tucked them safely under his arm.

 "Your room is upstairs, to the right past the bathroom at the end of the hall." Petyr's tone and mannerisms seemed to signal a goodnight, however he made to move towards his own bedroom. "I have an awful amount of work to attend to." His hand motioned to the letters in a flouncy and slightly aggravated manner.

 Sansa nodded and stepped languidly up the stairs to her room. There were pajamas waiting on the bed for her. Not an old college shirt two sizes too big, not men's silk trousers; they were small, striped girls pajamas and they fit her perfectly.

 As she buttoned the satin top, she wondered how long he may have been planning this. Sansa had thought it was a spur the moment decision, a rescue, but it was beginning to look more like a kidnapping. Or perhaps she was being paranoid and the pajamas belonged to an old girlfriend.

 The satin slid between the sheets and sensually against her skin, softly gliding against her nipples and collarbone.  It felt so much better than a hotel. As she began drifting off to the mumbled and hushed sounds of Petyr scribbling work downstairs, a sudden jingling brought her attention to a very old dog trying to jump to the foot of her bed.

 Sansa woke up, arms wrapped around a grey, shaggy dog with cloudy blue eyes. Her smile seemed to reach even to her ears as they turned back and wiggled a bit when she looked at the dog.

 After scratching his ears and helping him down, Sansa bounded from the room to find Petyr.

 "I didn't know you had a dog!" Sansa stood in the kitchen doorway, shouting at the back of Petyr's head.

 Keeping his eyes on the skillet and overlapping her words calmly, Petyr spoke, "I have a dog."

 "You just don't seem like you would have a dog. What's his name?" Sansa bent down to rub faces with the animal. He seemed to only see her at that distance.

 "His name is Old Dog."

 Sansa laughed, thinking Petyr was joking until he never corrected himself. "You can't just call him Old Dog!" Petyr looked over his shoulder to her accusation. "He couldn't have been Old Dog 10 years ago. He has to have a name!"

 "Sir Old Dog, then." Petyr smiled cautiously at this, hoping Sansa wasn't as offended as she appeared to be.

 Her blue eyes lit up again, whether from Petyr's suggestion or Old Dog's affection, he couldn't be sure.

 "Sir Old Dog." Sansa nodded and kissed the mutt on the head.


	9. I Want to Ruin Your Delusions

"I didn't know what you'd like. We haven't eaten breakfast together." Petyr looked over his shoulder to eye Sansa who was still crouched on the floor with Old Dog. "So I made everything breakfasty I had."

 "Whatever you're cooking right now smells pretty good." She stood gracefully and sided up to his shoulder, staring at where his jawline met his ear.

 "You mentioned an affinity for lemon." The tendon behind his ear hollowed when he spoke. Sansa liked it. "I'm making lemon pancakes. Peculiar, I know. They do taste good."

 Sansa smiled broadly and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "They sound wonderful."  She took a pinch of some ham that was sitting on a plate and nibbled at it ponderously (and more out of habit than hunger) as she wandered into the living room.

 In the daylight, the house was much prettier than it had appeared. The walls were brighter and the decorations were more subtle. The doors between rooms looked rich and heavy, they heaviest one leading to Petyr's office.

 The couch however was very old looking and feminine, with shades of mauve and a soft plushness to it like a woman's body. It sat facing a small television with rabbit ears; Sansa didn't watch television but it was nice to have. Next to that, on the green table, were framed pictures. Petyr was young and smiling what appeared to be a real smile. His hair was styled quite differently; it was a shorter crop with a deeper part and all a vibrant shade of chestnut. While he was handsome in the photographs, Sansa preferred the way his skin looked rougher now. There was wedding picture featuring a heavy set woman with fierce eyes. She looked cold and mean and as the pictures became more recent of her, she only looked colder and meaner.

 "Find something you like?" Petyr hung in the doorway with one hand bracing  his sideways stance, the lines of his body purposefully alluring and dominant. He thumbed his lip as he walked closer to survey the displayed photographs.

 "You're younger than I am in some of these pictures." Sansa turned to Petyr, a frame in hand, comparing the faces.

 He took the photograph from her hands and flipped it to look. A secret smile crossed his face. "This was in upstate New York." He tapped at the dark haired boy standing near the creek and his fingernail scratched over a young woman in the background as he handed the frame back to Sansa. His smile grew stranger. "I was fourteen. It was a good summer."

 Sansa placed the picture back down, "You were a scrawny little thing."

 Petyr's eyes grew a distant grey as he carefully brushed Sansa's hair away from her shoulder, "I was. I am. Just a scrawny little thing." Petyr's physical reaction seemed to betray how disinterested his words were to her comment.

 Sansa took his hand in hers and kissed where his thumb and index finger connected. She rubbed his soft knuckles across her cheek as she rolled her cobalt eyes towards him hooded under lashes.

 His mouth was set in a slight smirk, lips open, back teeth on the left side glimmering just barely. and his brows in a disbelieving furrow. He was either confused or amused; perhaps a combination of the two.

 "You're handsome now," Sansa mumbled into his hands, lips dragging over the peaks and curvature of his tendons.

 His smile widened. "How handsome?"

 "Very handsome," her lips drew his thumb into her mouth. While she did think him handsome, Sansa found it easier to play at this game as Alayne. She could stay safe behind Alayne, who was bolder and spoke through a forked tongue often. Sansa was still so unsure of Petyr and his motives and his purpose and for now this was all she knew to do. Some part of her did desire him. After all, he was her safety and he was her danger and he was all she had now.

 Petyr clutched her chin in his hand, his thumb pressing sweet smelling saliva into her skin leaving a wet spot. His eyes searched her face, as if he were comparing it to something else. Sansa broke eye contact and dropped her stare to the floor as she was being inspected.

 She supposed this was the first chance he's had to study her in the light. His eyes have been wearied by highways and roads this week and before that, Petyr only saw her in passing among others gazes. His scrutinizing felt warm on her cheeks, flattering and uncomfortable. It felt disciplinary: for just having her own face.

 "Don't close your eyes." Petyr's voice was low and hoarse in his whisper, "and don't lie to me." His voice grew stronger at the word lie.

 At this, Sansa's sharp eyes rolled back to Petyr's face as the breath she was holding escaped her lips. She loosened her posture and sighed. Sansa stopped wearing the sultry mask of Alayne and became a scared, sad, polite young woman again.

 Petyr leaned into the nape of her neck and kissed her over the bluish tint of her veins. He held softly to the small of her back and reached his other hand to her shoulder blade, palming it rather than using his fingertips. It was an unsure touch.

 He felt her pulse towards him as he kissed his way to her collarbone. He pulled away, her eyes looking into his, pupils wide.

 "Tell me you love me." Petyr's lips hung open on the last syllable and curled into a smirk. Before Sansa had the time to even understand the request, his finger pressed against her lips, pushing them to a pucker in a hushing motion. "I know you don't. I just," he stopped in a moment to collect himself. _I just want to see Cat's eyes telling me that_. "I'd just like to hear it."

 Sansa look at him with Cat's pitying, ocean eyes, "I love you, Petyr."

 It wasn't what he was expecting. It undid nothing and solved nothing. It was just a lie and a reminder that those eyes never loved him. It hurt more, actually. Not even this girl who has only reasons to care for him, not even her imposter eyes could muster a good enough lie. He wanted to destroy her and cradle her at the same time.

 Petyr pressed his lips violently against hers and held her face between both his hands. He pressed more strongly than he had intended, or maybe he did intend that. His mind was going blank and it infuriated him.

 Sansa's eyes closed tightly, wrinkling the surrounding delicate skin and flaking day-old mascara onto her cheeks. Petyr's hands flew back when he realized he was hurting her but his lips were still on hers because somewhere in him liked it.


	10. I Want to Ruin Your Smile

Petyr moved their bodies to press against the back of the couch and arched her back slightly over the furniture. Her breasts angled towards him as his pelvis pushed hers away, locked with each other.

His unwavering hands began to slowly unbutton her blouse as they looked at one another. Sansa’s brow was furrowed slightly and her lips were downturned; Petyr couldn’t tell what expression she wore although every choice running through his mind was a bad one. Her brows that twisted towards each other were too light for her face and made her look like a kitten with the sparse patch of fur between their eyes and their ears.

Sansa’s body inched away from his until she was perching on the back of the couch facing him, almost defiantly in her glance, and started at the buttons where Petyr had left off. She opened the blouse around her breasts, barely past the nipple, and the fabric pressed a small cleavage over her sternum.

It appeared to be a game between the two of them right now: who can hate themselves more. Neither of them was enjoying this yet somehow they found comfort in each other, but the irony of it was both only needed comfort because they felt betrayed by the other at this moment. To Sansa, Petyr had apparently rescued her for one reason and to Petyr, Sansa could never be that reason.

The softness in Petyr’s hands changed to a harshness Sansa hadn’t expected as his fingers curled upward around her collarbone, his palm pressed flat and rough above her breast. He pressed her back, just enough for her to lose her balance, not a push, and caught her shoulder in his other hand, lowering her down on the couch. He stood over her, staring from his side of the couch, as her hair fell into the cracks between the cushions.

As Petyr walked around the couch, his hand drew a trail up her body from her navel, almost as if he were tracing his own memories in her flesh. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, stopped, and knelt in front of her.

Her eyes were soft and weak and she spoke, “get on with it then. Tell me how much you want me, how beautiful I am, and get on with it.” The words were so private, like they should have been whispered, or hidden, or shrouded in tears, but they were just spoken straight-faced and directly to Petyr.

“I’m not Joffrey,” he shook his head, his dark hair shaking and out of place, as his firm grip in her hair loosened to a hand petting her cheekbone. “Or whoever else. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Sansa reached for the misplaced hair behind his ear and pulled his face in for a soft kiss. Petyr ran his hands down her torso along the soft, white path that led from the notch between her collarbones to the top of her pants. As she pulled his face to the side to reach his ear, he stared past her to the photo she had held earlier – to the boy and girl by the creek.

Just as he focused on the young woman in the photograph, Sansa’s voice sounded, in a private whisper this time. “And I’m not my mother.”

Petyr’s demeanor shifted again; cold and drawn back. “Of course not,” his cooing distracted from his words. “What would make you say that?”

Her mouth pulled at him again, humming in her throat as she grazed her lips against his jawline. “Just letting you know that I’m not stupid,” she whispered straight into his ear. “I don’t know everything you’re keeping from me, but I’m not stupid.”

At this moment, he hated everything she was, everything that created her, everything she represented. Sansa was a second chance that would fail just as fiercely. And he even realized that this time, he had won her against the other man. He had rescued her. So it was never about strength. It was something deeper that had corrupted that love and began corroding this one.  
He grabbed her face in his soft hands and kissed her. His weight shifted to straddle her waist as she lay on the couch. Sansa moved to arch her chest into him, keeping lips locked, and supporting her weight on her delicate elbows.

His hands drifted down her throat and over her breasts, tantalizing her skin with circular movements, bringing a blush to her face and nipples. Sansa broke their kiss and panted, her hot breath moving the hairs that fell in front of her face.

She arched her back so their hips still touched as her elbows moved from underneath her and her hands worked at the fastening of his trousers. His hips pushed into her hands when she wrapped her fingers around him.

Petyr looked down at her, her face solemn and concentrating. He moved his hands to the brim of her shorts and played with the skin just below her bellybutton. Her skin was on fire. Petyr moved back on her legs and slipped her clothes down her body. The fabric slid over her alabaster thighs and exposed the red hair at their apex. 

Sansa blushed as he smiled at her. It was a dominating smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it leaves off at a fun part! I just wanted to update this story as fast as I could. Eugh. Been busy.


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